


The Red Queen

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ADWD spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 20,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark is Jaime Lannister's last chance at honor. </p><p>In the wake of King Joffrey's death the realm demands answers. With Tyrion Lannister locked away in a dungeon and their marriage never consummated the Hand of the King has no choice but to join his eldest son in marriage with Sansa Stark, whom he believes to be the key to unlocking the North. But what Lord Tywin does not seem to realize is that the Lannister's are not the only ones who pay their debts. </p><p>Composed in a world where Petyr Baelish had never stolen Sansa away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the story begins.

_ Chapter One _

Sansa Stark remembered sitting beside her husband at the King’s wedding.

She remembered the pigeon pie and Joffrey’s wormy lips pulling into a cruel smile as he told her husband to pour his wine. She remembered Tyrion looking up at the King with the same disdain Sansa often did. She remembered Cersei laughing and drinking wine and Tywin watching all and Margaery pretending to be as happy with her husband as he was with her.

She remembered Joffrey’s face turning purple. She remembered his lips pulling back into a snarl of rage that soon turned to fear. She remembered Cersei’s screams and the way her wine had spilled down her gown as her hand loosened around her chalice. She remembered the look on the Queen Regent’s face when she held her son and watched the life drain from him one moment at a time.

Sansa remembered the guards tearing through the crowd and seizing Tyrion on the Queen Regent’s orders and dragging him down to the dungeon. She remembered being pushed to the floor by Cersei, who had screamed and screamed until her voice grew hoarse and her throat raw.

She remembered the feel of Cersei’s hands turning to fists in her long red hair, screaming that it was not to be worn loose. Sansa remembered the sick, perverse satisfaction she felt upon looking at Joffrey’s body and Cersei’s sorrow and Tywin’s disbelief.

She remembered it all as clearly as if it had happened three days prior, instead of three months.

Sometimes as she sat in her chamber, her fingers running through her auburn hair and her shoulders rolling- she sometimes did so to see if she could still feel the sharp pain from Joffrey’s whipping on her back, she wondered how different her life would be if Ser Dontos had never been caught.

Luckily for her the fool had said nothing of her involvement in the King’s murder. Thought Sansa was able to play innocent as she passed Dontos’ head posted on a spike outside the castle walls, Cersei knew, as she always did. Sansa had worn her best blank stare, even feigned a tear as she looked upon the severed head.

She had turned away, holding tighter to Cersei’s arm, and whispered how shameful it was to cry for a murderer. The Queen Regent’s lips had tightened and her eyes had narrowed but she did not speak, only continued to walk through the gardens with Sansa on her arm.

Sansa was in her bedchambers watching her handmaidens flutter about, opening curtains, straightening bed sheets, and filling her ivory bath tub. There was a knock on her door, just as Sansa had wrapped a robe around her pale shoulders. Margaery Lannister entered without waiting for an answer and strode to Sansa, her dark curls bouncing and a smile playing at her lips.

“My sweet Sansa.” She said and Sansa pulled her robe tighter around herself. She knew she ought to feel self-conscious, as her mesh robe was barely thicker than a bed sheet and she knew Margaery could see right through it, but Sansa could not bring herself to care. “King Tommen has summoned you to court this morning.”

“To court?” repeated Sansa.

“He wishes to see you right away.” Continued the older girl and then went about ordering Sansa’s handmaidens around. “After you have dressed of course.” She continued as she looked down at Sansa’s dressing robe. “You will break your fast with him and Lord Tywin.”

Sansa bathed quickly and let her handmaidens run their fingers through her hair and wash her long legs. Margaery sat on a stool beside the tub and ran her fingers through the steaming water, speaking of her great hunger and equally great excitement as to what Sansa had been summoned for.

 Sansa picked her favorite perfume and dabbed a bit behind each ear and at each of her wrists, as her mother had once taught her before she dressed in a dark red gown with long sleeves and a long train. She descended the stairs with Margaery at her side, babbling animatedly about Tommen’s kittens and their names and fluffy furs.

Tommen Baratheon was sitting in the Iron Throne, looking quite ridiculous as he did so. The chair was so large and daunting it nearly swallowed the boy and Sansa remembered Margaery telling her stories of how he had been cut by the jagged swords melded into the steel. Sansa would have found it funny if it had been Joffery, but Tommen was as sweet as honey and as kind as his mother was unkind.

Tywin Lannister was at his side, his face long and deadpan, his eyes following the two women as they crossed the long hall. Sansa remembered how she had once felt so intimidated by him. She supposed she still should, but she had little interest in caring about the things she could not change.

He greeted her crisply, as he always did and gestured for her to be seated across the table from him. The servants filled the hall with the sound of silver platters being placed on the table and the smells of fresh peasant. Sansa’s stomach rumbled and her cheeks lightly flushed.

She had barely eaten a few bites of fried bread when King Tommen spoke. “Sansa, have you visited by uncle in the dungeons?” he asked.

Sansa knew that it may be Tommen’s voice but it was Tywin’s words. “No, your grace. I have not seen him since…” she trailed off.

“You have had no contact with him whatsoever?” the little King asked. Sansa shook her head. “That it good.” He responded, looking at his grandfather out of the corner of his eye. “I have made a decision.” He said suddenly, after a long bit of silence. A bit of egg slid off Sansa’s fork.

“Yes, my lord?” she said and her voice wavered, as it had not for months. She wondered if they would execute her for treason as Cersei had threatened, or lock her in a cell beside her husband.

“Your marriage with my uncle was not consummated.” He stated. That was hardly a decision, but Sansa did not question the King. Sansa wondered if King Tommen even knew what it meant to consummate a marriage. The most she knew Margaery and Tommen shared a bed but Tommen only liked to cuddle and sometimes bury his face in her chest. Though it was innocent, Margaery insisted.

“No, my lord.” Tywin watched her for signs of falsity but Sansa knew her face betrayed nothing. She had trained herself to be as cold as the Southerners accused the Northerners to be. Her eyes were cold and her face stony, mirroring Lord Tywin’s.

“Then your marriage was not so.” Said the King, struggling with a slice of tomato.

“My Lord?”

“My council informs me that without a consummation of marriage, a marriage is not a marriage.” Said Tommen. By council he, of course, meant his grandfather. “So you are once again Sansa Stark.”

Sansa was not sure what to say. So she remained quiet. “Now that you are once again an unmarried woman.” Began the King’s Hand. “You will be wed again.”

Sansa’s heart plummeted. Her fork clattered down against her plate. “My Lord?” she cursed herself for her quavering voice.

 _As the last remaining heir to Winterfell, they have great need for you_ , Petyr Baelish had once told her. But he had begged her to come with him because he needed her just the same. In his game of thrones he planned to be the King, and what is a King without a Queen.

“You will wed again.” repeated Tywin, as if Sansa was too soft of head to understand his words.

“To whom?” she asked. Tommen was already wed. Tyrion was marked a traitor. Jaime was a man of the Kingsguard. Unless Tywin…

She shuddered at the thought and she felt Margaery’s hand rest upon her knee beneath the table. Tywin seemed to sense her discomfort and smiled cruelly. Her mother had often told her than older men liked to marry younger girls, and her father had once assured her that she would never be one of those girls.

Sansa imagined Tywin’s wrinkled hands on her. His cruel lips on her neck. “My son.” The King’s Hand said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Lord Tyrion?” Margaery said.

Tywin cast her a dark look. “My other son.” He said through gritted teeth.

“But my Lord Jaime is a man of the Kingsguard.” Said Sansa aghast. Her stomach was rumbling, though it was not from hunger. She, along with every other person in the realm, had heard the rumors of Jaime and Cersei.

She had heard her father’s words, the words that had marked him for death. She looked upon Tommen and all she saw was Cersei’s golden hair and light eyes. She frowned and told herself that Cersei’s blood had overpowered Robert’s instead of the thought that made her cringe.

“As the King,” began Tommen uncertainly, looking at Tywin as if his words were a question instead of a statement. Tommen may wear the golden crown but Tywin was the true King, and everyone in King’s Landing knew so. “I am able to change the laws of my guard. Jaime Lannister shall be allowed to wed, and to be wed to you.”  


	2. A Golden Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaime is informed of the news.

_Chapter Two_

_Jaime Lannister_

Standing before the King, Jaime Lannister felt the urge to laugh. His nephew looked so small, so childlike, sitting upon the throne. His blonde hair had grown shaggy, but he refused to cut it as Cersei had insisted. Tommen had said that was how Margaery liked it and Cersei had slapped him hard enough to knock him to the floor.

Jaime’s father sat at Tommen’s side, in a golden throne, with the golden pin of the King’s Hand on the lapel of his black doublet. Jaime had been summoned to the King’s Hall by a servant bearing a letter with a message that the knight was expected to stand before the King.

He had arrived early; early enough to see the Queen and Sansa Stark exit the double doors of the hall. “Good morrow, fair ladies.” Greeted the head of the Kingsguard.

“Good morrow, my Lord.” Said Margaery Tyrell. She was comely enough to throw Cersei into a rage, Jaime knew. She had soft curls and a sweet smile, though there was something beneath that was far cleverer than she let on.

“Good morrow.” Repeated Sansa. Though the many eyes of the kingdom favored Margaery as the fairest maiden in King’s Landing, Jaime found he favored the northern girl instead. He basked in the beauty of her northern looks, having never known anything but Cersei and other women who bore a sunny glow to their skin.

Sansa Stark was pale, her skin as smooth and blemish free as milk. Her lips resembled rosebuds and her eyes flashed with passion and mischief that his fool of a nephew had dismissed as innocence. But Jaime had known enough women to recognize that look, and Sansa Stark was far from innocent.

Jaime felt sorry for the girl when she was forced to marry Tyrion. Though Jaime loved his brother dearly, traitor or not, he knew it was shameful to be forced to marry a halfman, especially to such a beautiful woman as Sansa. Cersei had laughed and laughed until her sides had ached and half a bottle of wine had disappeared down her throat.

The day of her wedding was the day that Jaime Lannister realized Sansa to be far stronger and far braver than any other of the Lannisters knew. She had walked down the aisle with dignified grace, her arm on Tyrion’s. She had even kneeled so that he could place his cloak around her shoulders.

Upon entrance to the hall Tommen’s face lit up, as it always did upon seeing his uncle. But with Tywin at his side the King resisted the urge to jump up and throw himself into the knights mailed arms.

“Good morrow,” said Jaime, not aware that his good spirits would soon be squelched. 

The look on Tywin’s face told Tommen to cut the formalities and the pleasantries. “Jaime.” began King Tommen.

“Yes, your grace.” Said the eldest Lannister brother. He was still not used to addressing a child as his King.

“As a man of the Kingsguard you have lived knowing you may never marry.” Said Tommen. Jaime stared at him, waiting for the boy to cut to the chase. “I have changed these laws.”

“What?” Jaime spluttered, caught unawares by the King’s words. “My Lord?”

Tywin watched him with veiled amusement and Jaime knew there was a reason the law had been changed. His father must have met a soft-spoken girl with a large dowry and a small mind to marry him to. “You will marry.” Said Tywin.

“May I ask to whom?” asked Jaime with a laugh. “Or am I to stumble into our marriage bed and be surprised.”

“May I remind you that you are addressing your King.” Tywin said in a cold voice. 

“Jaime Lannister you are to be married to Sansa Stark.” Said King Tommen, smiling greatly. Jaime knew the boy was soft for Sansa. He often called upon her to play with he and his kittens; he had even named one after her.

Jaime remembered the look of pure sadness on the young King’s face when Cersei had told him the kitten had fallen from his window, though Jaime had seen his sister’s boot kick the soft red kitten.

“Sansa Stark?” Jaime repeated.

He had little engagement with the girl. She was quite beautiful, he knew but to have laws changed so that he might marry her. He knew Tywin had a greater plan in mind.

He had once been tasked with escorting Sansa while she went riding in the wood. They had chatted animatedly, to both of their surprise. She was kind and he was clever and soon they were both laughing and dreading the return to the castle. He remembered her soft hand in his as he helped her descend her saddle and the perfume she had in her hair as the wind blew it back towards him.

They had eaten a few meals together, in Sansa’s solar, when Cersei or Tywin had told him to spy on her. For what he had not known, but he had no doubt that Sansa knew his true purpose in dining with her. Her emerald eyes had flashed and her lips parted, though she said nothing.

He knew she could see through him, as his father could, his brother could, his sister could, and Brienne of Tarth could. “Why?” he asked the King.

“Because the King decrees it.” said Tywin. “And so it shall be.”

 _And so it shall be_. Jaime wondered when he would be able to make his own decisions in life. Without his father’s decrees or his sister’s seductions or his brother’s cleverness. Without the white cloak he always wore. Without the golden hand upon his wrist. Without the looks the people at court always gave him. _And so it shall be_.

And so it would be. 


	3. An Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaime's oath is shared.

_Chapter Three_

_Sansa Stark_

Jaime Lannister. She had been passed between brothers as easily and commonly as a brothel wench. It was true, she had never consummated her marriage with Tyrion, but she knew Jaime would not be so kind as to give her the same option.

He was not a cruel man, far from it, through many seemed to think he was. Sansa remembered the kindness he had shown her. He had taken her hand when she descended her saddle, opened doors for her, smiled at her a few times. They were small instances of kindness, but they were all Sansa had.

He called upon her later that night as she sat on her window seat, looking out upon the city. She was not dressed, and told him so, though he insisted to come inside anyway.

He was rigid and stiff, standing near the door instead of taking the chair Sansa had offered. His white cloak was still upon his shoulders and he wore his shining silver armor and Sansa was reminded of the knights he had envisioned marrying when she was a girl.

She almost laughed, thinking that Jaime Lannister was exactly the kind of knight she had pictured.

The knight of her dreams had golden hair and light eyes and a strong jaw. He wore plait and armor and his cloak was blemish free. When she was young she told herself that she would sew his tunics and repair his cloaks if they were torn in battle. She told herself she would bear his children and raise the golden haired babes as kindly as her mother had.

“I believe you have heard the news.” Jaime Lannister said, his hands twisting in his trouser pockets.

“Yes, my lord.” She said.

“Call me Jaime, please.” He said. Her courtesy was as false as fool’s gold, instilled in her by her mother and father and hammered into her by Cersei and Tywin until it was all she knew.

“Yes, Jaime.” she repeated. The word tingled as it touched her tongue. “Are you pleased?”

“Sansa,” he began. “I am to be your Lord husband, there is no need for the courtesy you show. I wish you to speak plainly before me, as my wife are you able to do so?” he frowned.

“Yes.” She began and he gave her a look. “Yes, Jaime.”

“I am pleased.” He said after a few moments. He wondered how many ears were listening.

He knew for a fact that each of Sansa’s four handmaidens were instilled in her service by a different person. Cersei had beaten the blonde into submission, threatening to whip her if she ever disobeyed. Tywin had paid the brunette for information of Sansa’s eating and sleeping habits, seeing some interest in them that Jaime did not. Even Margaery had bribed one of her hundred cousins to spy on the northern girl.

“I am too, my lo-Jaime.” she corrected herself.

“We are to wed in three days.” He said.

She nodded. “I am told.”

“I know I am not the man you wished to marry.” Jaime began. “You would have preferred Loras Tyrell perhaps or the boy Joffrey pretended to be.” She began to object but he put up a hand to stop her. He lowered his voice as two of her handmaidens edged closer, pretending to dust when their eyes were prying in. “I am not as clever as my brother, but I am not as cruel as my sister. That I promise, Sansa. If I am to be your husband, I will be the husband you have always dreamed about.”

She smiled at him softly, her hand resting atop his. It was warm against his skin and his littlest finger brushed against it. “You are my last chance at honor Sansa Stark. I will protect you.”

“From what, Jaime?” she whispered.

“From whatever it is that forces you to drink sleeping draughts so that you might sleep. Or whoever it was that made you speak such sad words. Or those who have made your eyes so sad.” He said.

She looked up at him with great blue eyes. “What do you know of my eyes?” she whispered.

“I know they were once much happier.” Said he. “And I know they will be again.” He smiled at her. “I swear it.”

She pressed a light kiss to his forehead and he felt himself blushing like a maid. “You already have.” She whispered.


	4. The Waif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cersei Lannister learns of the marriage and three bottles of wine disappear.

_Chapter Four_

_Cersei Lannister_

Cersei Lannister threw open the doors to her father’s study, crossing the room in a matter of seconds. She slammed her hands down upon the table he stood before and slowly; he raised his eyes to her.

She fumed, her cheeks flushed with anger and her eyes murderous. “Sansa Stark?” she demanded. “You reward a traitor with another Lannister husband.”

“It was the King’s word.” Said Tywin.

“His mouth but your words.” Said Cersei. She glared at her father, wishing she had the strength and bravery to slap him. “How dare you-“

“How dare you go against the King’s word.” He replied, flicking through the book in his lap. “Do not speak to me in such a way, Queen Regent.”

She felt as if she had been slapped. “Sansa Stark-“

“Will be as quiet and calm a wife as you never were.” Tywin finished for her. “That is final.”

“Final?” she demanded. “We will see.”

She swept from the room, her red slippers scuffing against the marble floors. Tywin smirked as the doors closed behind her and turned back to his book, turning the yellowing page and trying to find his place.

Cersei stalked down the hall until she reached Sansa’s chambers. “Leave.” She demanded the handmaidens. They bowed and flocked away, leaving Sansa and Cersei alone. Shae paused by the door but Sansa gave her a firm nod, and she followed after the other handmaidens.

“Yes, your grace.” Sansa said. Her eyes were empty and light, her mouth pressed into a firm line.

She was too pale for Jaime. He liked women with golden skin and golden hair and rosy lips. He liked curves and soft hips and long hair. He liked eyes like his and skin as soft as butter.

Cersei looked down at Sansa, bitterness at the back of her throat like sickness. She hated the Northern girl.

During Sansa’s time in King’s Landing the soft little dove had transformed into a graceful swan. She had grown taller and thinner, her hips rounder and her waist smaller. While Cersei’s waist had grown thicker, Sansa’s had grown thinner. While her golden thighs had began to expand, Sansa’s had thinned, as pale as cream.

Cersei often heard the whispers around the castle of how beautiful the Stark girl was becoming. She hated them. She hated _her_.

At first Cersei had blamed the change of stature on Sansa’s refusal to eat even a morsel of food for two months. She had become so sickly that she could not leave her bed and Cersei had derived pleasure in seeing the girl with sunken skin and a gaunt face, she had even counted the ribs that poked out beneath her skin when Grand Maester Pycelle inspected her. But Sansa had still been beautiful behind her sickness.

Her handmaiden Shae and Tyrion had somehow forced the girl to begin to eat again, but Sansa never returned to the flat chested, waif of a girl she had once been. Sometimes Cersei had dreams of coming to the girls chambers at night and taking a pair of shears to her long auburn locks, cutting until there was noting but pale skull and patchy red clumps.

“Your grace?” Sansa repeated and Cersei realized she had said nothing for a few moments. She stood before Sansa, towering above the sitting girl, her hands aching for her thin swan neck. She wanted to squeeze and squeeze until her face turned as purple as Joffrey’s once had.

“I wanted to wish you congratulations on your second marriage.” Said Cersei.

“Thank you, your grace.” Said Sansa, dully. “Are you well, my lady? You look awfully flushed.”

Cersei glared at her. “I am well.” She snapped. She could not think of a retort. Perhaps a bottle of wine had softened her wit as well as her inhibitions.

“I am pleased to have King Tommen walking me down the aisle.” Sansa said. “He is such a brave and gallant King.”

Cersei seized Sansa around the throat, slamming her back against the wall. But as she looked upon the girl she saw no fear in her crystal eyes. A smile pulled at her red lips. “Why do you laugh?” demanded the Queen Regent.

“It seems your strength is not what it once was.” Whispered the traitor. Cersei slammed her once more against the wall.

“Mother.” Said King Tommen, appearing in the doorway. His eyes widened in horror and at his side Margaery watched the scene with interest, scratching the neck of one of Tommen’s kittens. Her brown eyes flashed, looking upon Cersei. “What are you doing?”

She released Sansa, who, without a red line around her neck, seemed otherwise unfazed. “Nothing, dear.” Cersei replied. She swept from the room, wishing she had kicked the actual Sansa from a window instead of Tommen’s little red haired kitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is, as always, welcome x


	5. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa and Jaime are forever joined and once more, Sansa becomes a Lannister.

_Chapter Five_

_Jaime Lannister_

He wasn’t allowed to wear his white cloak. He was being forced into marriage, forced from his position as head of the Kingsguard, forced to follow his father and his sister, but he was not even allowed to wear his cloak.

He stood alone at the end of Baelor’s Sept. The sept was so packed with people that a few families had to stand at the back of the hall. Standing at the front of the aisle Jaime could see the Tyrell’s, the Lannisters, the people he had seen around the castle but not paid attention to.

Cersei sat at the front row beside Margaery Tyrell and Tywin Lannister. She had dressed in her finest clothes, trying her hardest to outdo Sansa even on her wedding day. Her hair was braided and knotted and tied with a golden crown upon her head. She wore dark red, as she always did. Jaime knew it was because she thought it was her best color. And perhaps it was, able to bring out the color of her eyes and the gold of her hair.

Tywin also wore red, his eyes as hard as his lips as he watched Jaime stand beside the High Septon.

Finally the doors of the sept opened and Sansa entered, her arm upon the King’s as they crossed the room. Jaime could have laughed in Cersei’s face. She had tried to outdo the northern girl but had not even come close.

Sansa wore deep crimson red, a bold red that matched her hair but accentuated the strands of gold that could only be seen in the sunlight. Her cheeks were flushed from where her handmaidens had pinched them and her lips had been dabbed in rouge. Her hair was braided at the crown of her head, pulling the hair from her face but was loose at the bottom, to Cersei’s disdain.

Jaime had heard that Sansa and her handmaiden Shae had stayed up for two days straight sewing the elaborate gold edging on the dress. He could see the Lannister lions on her sleeves, but when he looked closer he saw that they looked half like lions, half like wolves. His father would surely love that.

Her dress had a long train and sparkled with jewels and crystals as she walked passed torches and candles. Margaery had gifted her the fabric as an early wedding present. Jaime wondered what Cersei had given. From the marks he had seen on Sansa’s neck, he assumed it was a slap and harsh words. _Cersei’s specialty_.

Jaime and Sansa bowed to King Tommen once she reached the front of the aisle and he took his seat beside his wife and mother.

The High Septon said the words but neither one listened. Jaime could feel the weight of Sansa’s arm upon his and feel the warmth of her skin through his tunic. His Lannister cloak of crimson and gold was placed over her shoulders and pinned at her neck with a golden broach.

Their marriage was sealed with a chaste kiss and the sept was emptied, the crowds corralled to the great feast.

It was nothing compare to Joffrey’s wedding, but grander than Tommen’s. Margaery had arranged the whole thing, and though there was no pigeon pie, Jaime found he quite enjoyed it. He ate roasted rabbit and potatoes and spiced gravy. He drank many glasses of wine and felt it like fire down his throat and in his stomach.

He rested his hand upon Sansa’s as she brought her chalice to her lips. He was suddenly overcome with the desire to kiss those lips, right then and right there. But he knew Cersei would never forgive him and she would take her anger out on the northern girl. And Jaime would not allow anything to happen to her. Not with his cloak on her shoulders.

As the bedding ceremony began Jaime watched Sansa as she was lifted onto Petyr Baelish’s shoulders, his beady black eyes widening as her bodice was loosened. Jaime had demanded Sansa be spared from the archaic ritual but Tywin had heard none of it. Even Tommen had agreed causing Jaime to wonder if he had ever seen a naked woman before.

Mace Tyrell, Loras Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, and Osmond Kettleblack carried his wife away, leaving a trail of her clothes behind and making jests that made even Jaime blush. But Sansa remained stoic, a lovely white marble statue, her face a mask.  

Jaime came next, hauled onto the shoulders of Cersei, Margaery and other women he paid no attention to. He felt hands at his waist, pulling his tunic over his head and unlacing his trousers. He felt hands slip beneath his smallclothes and he slapped them away, feeling himself responding to the touches.

When he entered his new chamber he found Sansa already there. He had expected to find her hiding beneath the sheets, or wearing a dressing robe, or blushing as red as the dress she had once wore. But she lay over the sheets, one arm over her head, the other lying across her flat stomach. Her eyes followed him as he stood by the door. Her gaze felt warm upon him, like the wine sitting in his belly.

He crawled over the bed beside her and looked down at her. His mind was filled with the images of Catelyn Stark, of Ned Stark, of Brienne of Tarth. He wondered what they would think of him as he stared down at Sansa Stark’s naked form.

He brushed a strand of red hair from her face and she jerked under his touch, commenting on how cold his hands were. His hands fumbled with the laces of his smallclothes and he kicked them aside, pulling himself under the blankets of the bed.

He knew there must be a hundred ears beyond the door. Eight ears at least, with all four handmaidens in the adjoining room. But there was bound to be more. The Gods were probably watching them too. Jaime pictured Ned and Catelyn Stark again.

Suddenly Sansa was kissing him. Her lips were pillowy soft and dark red, even redder as he pushed down on her lips, causing them to swell slightly. Her nose bumped against his as he kissed her.

Her breasts were like cream, her skin as soft as it looked. She could have been a marble statue, Jaime thought. But she was far softer. His hand slid up her thigh and she shivered. She was a maiden, he knew, but she seemed to know much more than most maidens do.

His lips moved down her neck and she could feel his stubble, though she liked it, as she had thought she would not. His mouth continued lower, brushing passed her palm sized breasts and her light nipples, down her soft stomach and over her protruding hip bones.

She gasped as he gently pushed aside her knees, his lips brushing the patch of auburn curls he had never seen before. He smiled against her, knowing she had never heard of this.

He smiled again when her leg looped over his shoulder and her hand pressed against the back of his head. She shook and cried out as she came and he wondered if that was show enough for the women outside the door. But it was not enough.

After she had a few minutes to recover, he spread her knees again. He pushed inside her gently, holding her waist with his good hand, balancing himself with the other. He tried to hide the golden hand from her at every occasion but she saw right through him. His pace quickened as her hips buckled against him while she tried to mirror his speed. He held her tighter and let out a moan loud enough to satisfy all the prying ears.

They moaned at the same moment and he felt himself on the verge. His golden hand nearly slipped on the soft sheets but she caught it. She took the hand and brought it to her lips, kissing every single golden finger, one by one. He came harder than he ever had, spilling his seed within her and moaning loudly.

He collapsed on the bed, and to Sansa’s surprise, pulled her closer to him. One arm wrapped around her middle while the other rested under her head. She could feel his heaving chest as he tried to calm his breathing. His hand brushed her breast and she felt herself moan again, her face flushing in response. “Good night, my wife.” He murmured.

She did not respond for so long he feared she had fallen asleep. “Good night, my husband.” She felt him smiling against her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a few surprises coming up soon. Are you as excited as I am?


	6. The Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaime counts the minutes.

_Chapter Six_

_Jaime Lannister_

Jaime Lannister dreamed of war nearly every night. He saw bodies piled up in the streets, blood running down their faces, screaming in the air.

He saw his hand cut off by Vargo Hoat. He heard his own screams and the blood spurting from his wrist and the necklace he was forced to wear around his neck, his limp hand hanging on the string.

He saw Brienne and the bear in the fighting ring. He saw himself jumping inside, grabbing a sword, standing before the wench like he wanted to protect her. 

In his better dreams he saw Cersei, lying over the bed with her golden hair cascading down her side, covering her perfect breasts. There was a smile playing at her lips, her eyes twinkling and her hands reaching towards him. But the dream always turned sour.

She would scratch him with her long nails and scream at him until her throat felt raw. Sometimes he would see her cry tears of blood. Sometimes he saw Joffrey with his face turned purple.

But as he lay with Sansa Stark curled beside him like one of Tommen’s kittens, he dreamed of nothing.

He awoke with the scent of her perfume in his nose and her skin as soft as the cushion beneath his head. She was humming, sitting at the side of the bed and brushing out her long auburn hair. She was still naked, her hair tumbling over her creamy shoulders.

Her waist was so small Jaime thought he could wrap his hands around it. Had he had both of his hands.

He wondered where she had gotten her figure. Jaime knew Lysa Arryn, thick of waist and short of height. He knew Catelyn Stark; slim but hard where Sansa was soft. He had once seen Arya Stark, small and boyish. But Sansa was like a figure in a painting, her skin as blemish free as cream and her legs as long as Cersei’s.

With his good hand he ghosted a hand down her spine, feeling the ridges beneath his fingers. Her bones protruded, perhaps a bit too much, and vaguely Jaime remembered hearing of Sansa’s hunger strike so many months ago. But somehow her handmaiden had convinced her to eat, sneaking lemon cakes from the kitchen.

He remembered the day Sansa had made the mistake of telling Cersei they were her favorite, as she smiled fondly and had a bit of yellow frosting on her top lip. He remembered Cersei’s sickeningly sweet smile as she descended the stairs to the kitchen and prohibited the cooks from ever serving them again.

“Good morrow.” He whispered.

She turned to him, smiling softly. He remembered the feel of her breast in his hand, her light pink nipples between his index finger and thumb. “I have been called to breakfast.” She said, rising from the bed.

He propped himself upon his arm and tilted his head to the side, looking at her. She did not seemed ashamed to stand before him as naked as her name day. He watched the curve of her bottom as she walked, and the way her hipbones poked out from beneath her skin. Her breasts bounced lightly as she moved and began to fill the tub for a bath.

The tub was large enough for two and so Jaime made it so, sinking into the hot water on the other side of Sansa. He did not remove his golden hand as he usually did when he bathed, ashamed of his weakness but Sansa did not even seem to notice.

“I thought you were shy.” He whispered. His arms reached out to pull her towards him, her back resting against his front. One arm came behind her to encircle Jaime’s neck and he was ashamed to find such a simple gesture had caused him to harden again.

“That proves how little you know me.” Sansa whispered cheekily, one of her hands slipping beneath the water.

She began to stroke him and he gasped. “Indeed.” He said.

Shae dressed Sansa while the other handmaidens changed the sheets, taking care to wrap them carefully where they would later be brought down to Tywin and Cersei Lannister for proof of the consummation.

“That is a lovely gown.” Jaime said.

Sansa wore lavender with long sleeves and a long train, a small golden belt cinching her waist. “It was a gift from your sister.” She said. Jaime knew Cersei had intentionally gifted the dress to small, aiming to embarrass the girl. But she had been mistaken, and the tight fabric only further emphasized the parts of Sansa he so enjoyed.

“Shall we break our fast together?” he asked. He sounded like a schoolboy in love. Sansa had not even left the room yet and he already missed her as vehemently as he missed his hand. He could smell her perfume even from across the room.

“Yes.” She bent to kiss his brow. “When I return.”

 _When I return._ Jaime counted the minutes.


	7. Upon The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many lies lead to a bit of truth.

_Chapter Seven_

_Jon Snow_

Lord Commander Snow received a letter with the news of his half-sister’s wedding. _Her second wedding_ , he corrected himself. First she was given to Tyrion Lannister, who Jon was perfectly fond of. The imp was a kind man with a gentle heart and a clever mind, his tongue as sharp as most men’s swords.

But then she was passed to Jaime Lannister as a common whore was passed between men in a brothel.

 _The Kingslayer_. The man that had ordered the murder of their brother and Sansa’s mother. The man who had nearly cost Robb the war. The man who had filled his own sister with child.

Jon Snow missed Sansa as much as he missed Winterfell, sometimes more. He missed her kindness and gentleness and the curve of her rosy smile. He remembered the way they would walk the gardens together, stopping before the Heart Tree and looking upon the face in silent prayer.

He enjoyed being alone, as did she, but the two soon found that they enjoyed being together as much as they enjoyed being alone. He still kept the tunic she had sewn for him, the direwolf of the Stark’s sewn into the doublet, though it was packed deep in his trunks.

When he had taken the black he renounced all family ties and was no longer allowed to bear the Stark sigil as proudly as he once had.

Sometimes when Jon crawled into Ghost’s skin he could see how the wolf missed the girl as well. He could smell her through the direwolf’s nose; smell that she was still alive. That was the thought that warmed his bones upon the Wall.

In his dreams he remembered her. The last time they had seen each other when she was still a girl, her body long and thin as it grew, her bones poking through her skin and her hair to the top of her shoulders. _Kissed by fire_ , he thought and smiled, remembering.

He wondered if she ever thought of him. He wondered if she even remembered.

Jon remembered Sansa lying beside him in the snow covered grass, one of her pale hands curled in his hair, the other wrapped around his hand, her fingers entwined with his. Catelyn had hated it, as she hated Jon, but Ned had proclaimed it sweet and innocent.

Jon often wondered what Ned Stark would think of him now, holding the Wall by himself, a man grown.

He remembered the day he had left for the wall. After saying his goodbyes he had been left alone in the gardens, standing before the heart tree, one of his hands on the cold bark. His lips had muttered a silent prayer to the Gods before he was expected to ride away to the cold, silence that was the Wall.

Sansa had stepped out from behind the tree, bundled in one of Jon’s heavy black cloaks. Her cheeks were flushed red from the cold, her lips puckered and as deep a red as her hair. “Sansa-“ he had said.

Before he could continue she had taken the collar of his shirt in her hands, her hands turning to fists as she pulled him closer and closer until her lips were on his. Her body had been soft, her hair sweet smelling, and her mouth tasting of mint and lemon from the cakes she had eaten.

Her tongue had brushed against his bottom lip, entering his mouth urgently. His arm had wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The other hand brushed through her hair, pushing it from her face and raking it back with his fingers.  Her head had tilted to the side, allowing his lips to trail down her neck as Jon had once seen Theon do with a girl from the city.

Jon remembered the kiss. Every second of it and often recalled the memory when he felt as though he could not continue. “I have to go, Sansa.” Young Jon had told the Young Sansa, hidden from view.

She had looked up at him with her crystal green eyes, silently begging him to stay. “You are my everything.” He rested his forehead against hers, watching as their uneven breath smoked in the cold air.

“I will visit you often.” She said.

“You cannot.” He had insisted. “Women cannot come upon the Wall.”

“Then I will write you.” She said. Her hand had slipped into his as it so often did. “And I will wait.”

He took a breath. “I love you.” He had never said the words before and she stiffened in response, growing as still as the stone statues in the depths of Winterfell.

He flushed, growing as still as she, as he thought he had said the wrong words. He had never been good with words, choosing to show his passion with a lingering look or a soft touch rather than words.

Sansa kissed him again, much lighter and softer. “I love you.” She whispered back to him. “Always.” She said.

He kissed her cheek as he heard his name being called. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that a romance you expected?


	8. In The Garden With A Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa and Margaery discuss the Lannisters and the lives they might have lived.

_Chapter Eight_

_Sansa Stark_

Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark lay beside each other in the tall southern grass, staring up at the clear blue sky and listening to the sound of their horses neighing in the distance. They had scarcely been alone since Sansa’s second wedding and she found herself missing the Young Queen.

Margaery propped her head in her hands and wiggled closer to Sansa. “Have you ever been in love?” she asked suddenly. Sansa looked out of the corner of her eye to find their escorts playing a game of cards a safe distance away.

“Yes.” She answered without hesitation.

“What was his name?” asked Margaery with a sigh.

_Jon Snow,_ thought Sansa but she knew better than to say the name aloud, even to Margaery. “Brandon,” she said, saying the first name that came to mind. “Like my father’s brother.”

“What was he like this Brandon?”

Sansa smiled. “He was tall and handsome, he wanted to be a knight and he trained almost every day. He seldom smiled,” she began. “But when he did I smiled too. We were in love for many years.”

“And?” urged Margaery.

Sansa’s eyes darkened. “His father sent him away to Dorne.” She said. Sansa had become so adept at lying that she had not even flinched upon saying Dorne instead of The Wall.

“Does he eat peppers and drink Dornish reds?” she asked cheerfully.

No, he eats snow and melts it when there is nothing else to drink. “Yes.” She lied.

“Perhaps he will come for you one day.” Said the Queen.

Sansa found herself smiling again, remembering the feel of Jon’s soft lips and the look of his dark, dark curls. She remembered the look he had given he when she presented to him the tunic she had sewn. He had dropped to his knees and taken her hand, vowing he had never before had something so fine.

He had worn it every day for a week until he became so dirty and soiled from training that Sansa forced it off of him. Then she remembered the look of him without his tunic on.

“Were you a maiden?” asked Margaery. She curled closer to Sansa, resting her hand on the other girl’s. “Before Jaime?”

Sansa stayed quiet for a long moment, choosing truth for once instead of a lie. “Yes.” She said. “But I wish I hadn’t been.”

Jaime might have told his father and Sansa might have been beheaded but she would rather die the wife of Jon Snow than the maiden of Jaime Lannister any day. “Were you in love?” she changed the subject.

Margaery thought for a long moment, her hand coming up to brush her windblown hair out of her face. “I was.” She said finally. “Twice.” Sansa gave her a questioning look. “I was in love with Wrenly once.” She said. “I love him so much I thought my heart would burst, but I would have given into death gladly if it meant I would be near him.”

Sansa was perhaps the only person- besides Loras and Olenna Tyrell, that Margaery was so open with. The two girls trusted each other, alone in King’s Landing they only had each other. “But he preferred a different kind of love.” She said. Sansa had heard the rumors of the Knight of Flowers and the Maybe King of Westeros.

“But even before then I once loved a boy you knew very well. Robb Stark.”

“Robb?” repeated Sansa, giggling. “Then we would truly have been sisters.”

“Yes.” Said Margaery, dropping her voice to a whisper. “And I would have a husband who was not half my age and more in love with his kittens than with me.” Sansa hugged her friend and the Queen rested her head upon the girls shoulder. “But Tommen is a sweet boy. A green boy, but a sweet boy. He is no Joffrey.”

Sansa stiffened at the mention and Margaery pressed a kiss to her cheek softly. “He paid for what he did to you.” She said. Her voice was barely louder than a gust of wind. “I saw to that.” Her fingers traced the scars on Sansa’s back through her clothing. “And I will do it again, should Jaime adopt his son’s predilection of violence.”


	9. The Black Cells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which what is dark becomes light.

_ Chapter Nine _

_ Sansa Stark _

It took two women and a sack of golden dragons to slip into the dungeon. 

Sansa Stark left Margaery to do what she did best. Two floors above the black cells Margaery twirled her hair, laughed softly, flipped her brown curls over her shoulders and marveled at the strength of the dungeon guards. Sansa slipped down the stairs, her auburn hair covered with a black hood and her shoulders bore a tattered cloak. 

She found who she was looking for almost immediately. She had visited him before, as often as she could since his imprisonment began. 

“Tyrion.” She whispered through the darkness. 

“Sansa.” His voice rose up, hoarse and gruff. He approached the bars to his cell, his hands coming through the gate to grasp hers. “I have never been so happy to see you.” He said. His eyes watered, “Push back your cloak, let me look upon you.”

She did as she was told. With her she brought a half a quail and bread dipped in honey, Tyrion’s favorite. She slipped the food to him and watched as he devoured the bird with a crack of bones and a lick of his short fingers. “How do you fare?” asked she. 

He took a long drink of the wine she offered. “Well enough now that sweet Cersei has stopped visiting.” 

Sansa stifled a laugh. “It will not be much longer.” 

“I trust you.” Said he. His short fingers entwined with hers. She crouched to see him. “Have you married him yet?”

“Yes.” She whispered. “Lord Tywin believes it all his idea.”

“Just as was expected. The man believes he is the reason the sun rises in the morning and sets at night.” Said Tyrion Lannister. “Have you consummated your marriage?” she nodded. “Are you with child?” 

“No.” said she. 

“Jaime will continue coming to your bed.” Tyrion said. “He is under pressure from our dear Lord Father.”

“As planned.” She said. “I promise it will not be much longer.”

“What of Shae?” he asked suddenly, his voice raw with longing. 

“She sends a gift.” Said Sansa. 

“A gift?” repeated the imp. Sansa pulled him close through the bars of the cell and kissed him, just as Shae had told her to. She slipped her tongue into his mouth softly and heard him moan in response. “A merry gift as well.” Said he when she pulled away. He tasted of wine and honey. “Perhaps I am more fond of that than of the chicken.”

“Then next time I will bring only kisses.” She teased. “The time is coming near.” She added with a tone of seniority in her voice. “The pieces are falling into place.” 

“And what of your dear love?” he asked softly. 

Sansa frowned in the darkness. She heard Margaery rap three times upon the stone wall, meaning her time in the dungeon was coming to an end. “I shall soon see.” She said. “I must go.”

“Wait.” He caught her by the sleeve. She tuned back to find his mismatched eyes wide and sorrowful. “Was I a good husband?” he sounded as small as King Tommen. 

She kissed him again. Her lips were cold against his. “The very best a woman could ask for.” And with that she swept up the stairs and rejoined the Queen. 


	10. Valar Morghulis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa grows closer to what she desires.

_Chapter Ten_

_Oberyn Martell_

The ride to King’s Landing was long and arduous and took so long Oberyn wondered if the Lannisters planned to kill him off in the journey itself. When his party finally arrived at the gates of the city he crinkled his nose in disgust. “What is that smell?” asked Ellaria Sand, pulling her horse up beside his.

“Misery.” He replied miserably.

Jaime Lannister, Sansa Stark, King Tommen, and Margaery Tyrell greeted them and Oberyn looked upon the two girls fondly, though feigned innocence as he was introduced.

Sansa looked twice as beautiful as she had the last time he had seen her and he was pleased to find the Southern heat had not marred her creamy skin. The gown she wore emphasized his favorite parts of her and he watched her chest rise and fall as she breathed, his eyes meeting hers with a secret look.

“May I present my Lady wife, Sansa Lannister.” Said Jaime with a great smile pulled over his face. He truly looked happy with the match and Oberyn saw the smile on Sansa’s face that did not reach her green eyes.

“Pleasure.” Said Oberyn, bowing and pressing a kiss to the soft skin of her hand. She squeezed his fingers gently. “It is lovely to meet such a lovely woman, especially one who has made the Kingslayer so happy.” Thought Jaime prickled at the description he did not speak.

“It was a shame you could not attend our wedding.” Sansa said. Her eyes flashed, saying the words she could not speak aloud.

“I am very sorry to have missed it.” Oberyn rolled his letters more prominently that was necessary and felt Sansa elbow him in the ribs when nobody was looking.

After the lengthy introductions and pleasantries Oberyn offered Sansa his arm. She rested her arm upon his and smiled at her husband. Oberyn felt like a young boy again, his mouth going dry at the feel of Sansa’s warm skin on his. “My darling, Oberyn wishes to see a tour of the castle.” Said she, pressing a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

“I will join you-“ Jaime the Kingslayer began.

Margaery squeezed Tommen’s hand. “Uncle I require you in my council.”

He gave Sansa a worried look. “I will keep her safe from harm, my lord.” Teased Oberyn.

“But who will keep her safe from you?” muttered Jaime, stalking off after King Tommen. Margaery looked over her shoulder at the couple and grinned, continuing to walk and converse with Ellaria as she did so.

Sansa showed Oberyn the gardens, the red keep, the great hall, and a hall of tapestries Oberyn cared little about. They reached the third floor Oberyn had three of his men stand guard.

As soon as he and Sansa turned the corner near the excess chambers that were out of use he pulled her into his arms. She was more than willing, her mouth finding his in the low light a moan pulling from her lips as he lifted her feet off the ground. She bit his bottom lip and he cried out, the pain only adding to the pleasure.

Her long legs wrapped around his tapered waist and his lips continued down her neck, nipping at her collar and pushing her hair back. She moaned lightly, feeling his short stubble down her skin like an embrace.

She was as warm as the Dornish sun, her rosebud lips swollen as she kissed him with rapid fervor. Her hands unbuttoned his tunic as she pushed him into one of the empty chambers. He was as muscular as she remembered, his shoulders broad and his arms as strong as Jon’s were. His stomach rippled with muscle, flexed as her hands walked down them.

Oberyn had caught a glimpse of her handmaiden standing outside the door. Should anyone force their way past his guards she would deter them from coming further.

His tunic fell away and he kicked his boots off, struggling with her gown as he did so. Her silken small clothes were kicked away and she stood before him nude. She even seemed thinner than she had before, but more womanly. Her hips were round, her breasts even rounder and her stomach as flat as a table.

His lips suckled at her pink nipples and down her chest as he pulled her into his lap. She felt him stiff against her leg and took him in hand, her long fingers moving teasingly up and down his shaft.

He moaned quietly, knowing he could not make much noise. He pulled her down upon him to find she was already wet and he felt himself grow even harder, thinking  he might burst before she had even touched him.

His touch was deft and confident and Sansa felt no shame of guilt in knowing that he had been with so many other women.

He cursed softly at the tightness of the fit, again when her hips began to move and he threw his head back in pleasure. Her long nails dug into his back but he liked it. Loved it even. Loved her.

But Sansa only saw Jon. It was him writhing beneath her. His pouty lips she was kissing. His beard that scratched the insides of her thighs. His heart that was hers.

Oberyn gasps out a wave of pleasure and bit her shoulder to keep from calling out. She arched her back as she could feel his release approaching just as hers was.

Oberyn was a passionate lover, she knew but it was her duty to do this, to be with him. She though of her mother and father, both dead at the hands of the Lannisters. She thought of Robb dead. Of Tyrion locked away. Of Margaery sealed in a marriage with two boys she had no interest in ever loving, one cruel and the other a child.

She thought of Arya, long dead or long gone.

Her pleasure came in a wave and she rode it, throwing her head back in ecstasy but she did not moan for fear of drawing unwanted attention. Oberyn’s hips bucked against her as she felt herself losing strength.

Sansa began to repeat the list she said before bed each night over and over in her head until Oberyn rolled away from her, panting and breathless. _Lord Tywin Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Ser Ilyn Payne, Walder Frey, The Mountain, Ser Meryn Trant. Valar Morghulis._

She looked at him, his eyes dropping closed and his lips pulled into a smile of contention and she knew she had done it. She had taken Dorne.

_Valar Morghulis._


	11. Lemon Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaime falters and Cersei is far more calculated than she seems.

_Chapter Eleven_

_Jaime Lannister_

Jaime found his wife sitting in her solar with her handmaiden Shae, perhaps the only honest one of the lot. She was eating lemon cakes and Jaime felt a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He had lifted his sister’s ban on them and the cooks had been so pleased they had whipped up nearly three bunches of them, delivering them to Sansa’s door with pleasure written on their faces.

“My Lady Shae would you excuse us.” Said Jaime, bowing to the woman.

The handmaiden curtsied and left the room, closing the door tightly behind her and he heard the distinct sound of her shooing the other handmaidens and their prying ears away from the door.

Sansa made to stand but Jaime took the seat beside her. “Good morrow husband.” She said cheerfully. Her upper lip was covered in powered sugar from the cakes and her pleasure was clear.

He kissed her temple softly. She smelled as sweet as honey and as soft as the flowers in the gardens she liked to walk through. He felt guilt gnawing at his stomach like an ache.

Cersei had slammed into his chambers earlier that morning, fuming. She had grabbed the collar of his tunic; her long nails digging into his skin and bared her teeth at him. She was a fierce lioness, sharp as lion’s talons and dull of sense, though she prided herself as clever as Tywin Lannister herself.

She said nothing, her eyes boring into his. Her lips came crashing down upon his and Jaime remembered how different she tasted than his wife. Where Sansa was honey sweet and deep and passionate his sister was hurried and full of lust, her mouth tasting bitter and spicy with wine.

His months of serpation from his twin became suddenly clear as he pushed the parchment and books from his desk with one arm, placing her down. On her back, with her skirts pulled up her thighs and her bodice unlaced she looked far less pure than Sansa but golden and bright, a part of him far closer than Sansa would ever be. _Could ever be_.

His desperation was clear and he was ashamed that after only four or five thrusts he spilled his seen between her thighs. She pulled him closer, dragging his lips against hers and twirling her tongue against his as they often had when they were children. _Wrestling_ , she had called it, though he knew it was far more.

Sansa looked up at him, waiting for him to speak but when he did not she took his hand. “Thank you for the lemon cakes.” She said. “I saved you some.”

“Did you?” Jaime could not help but to think Cersei would never have saved him any.

Upon his first bite he realized Sansa’s obsession was valid and he ate two caked before he could even speak. “Do you like them?” she asked. Her eyes twinkled. He muttered his agreement between mouthfulls, feeling the tang of the lemon on his tongue.

“Prince Oberyn is fond of you.” He said after he had swallowed.

She raised her eyes to him. “Oh?” she asked. “Did he say so?”

“Dorne is an open city. He and Ellaria have an arrangement…” he began. “I daresay he fancies you on more than a polite level.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did he say something?”

“He didn’t have to.” Said Jaime. “I have seen enough men looking after you to tell when you are lusted after.”

“Are you jealous?” she teased, easing into his lap.

He stroked her back with his fingers. “Would you tease me if I said yes?”

She was as light as a feather pillow and her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips peppering kisses along his cheeks. “Yes.” She said.

“I have no doubt you are a faithful wife.” Said Ser Jaime, closing his eyes as he felt Sansa kiss him. He was even more ashamed to admit that in his mind it was Cersei curled on his lap and her lips pressing down his chest.

She paused, looking up at his closed eyes and seeing a look of pleasure rolled over his face. “As you are a faithful husband.” Jaime’s stomach clenched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave feedback, I promise I read all comments though I may not respond to them all x


	12. The Viper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a promise is made and a champion is named.

_Chapter Twelve_

_Shae_

 Sansa smelled of Oberyn Martell and Jaime smelled of Cersei Lannister.

Shae knew enough of the Queen Regent from washing her soiled sheets and dressing her in her ornate gowns to recognize her sickeningly sweet perfume. And the Southern Prince. Shae had heard enough of his seductions of the handmaiden’s in the Red Keep to know that he smelled of herbs and spiced wine.

As they embraced both husband and wife had faces twisted in guilt. Both were ashamed of themselves, though neither dare admit it. Even through the door Shae could hear Sansa’s voice, as soft as a feather bed and as smooth as Dornish wine. “As you are a faithful husband.” The Northern girl said, as her arms slid around her husband.

It was said Jaime spent the next three days locked in his chambers. He refused to see anyone, not even his sister or his wife. Only his father dare enter the room.

In the time Jaime Lannister was locked in his chambers Oberyn Martell kept his end of Sansa’s bargain.

Shae sat on the bench beside Sansa in the arena, Cersei and Tywin on their left and the youngest Lannister, still in chains, in front of them. The King’s Hand and the Queen Regent looked amused at the spectacle before them: Oberyn Martell engaged in a trial by combat with Gregor Clegane, the champion Cersei herself had named.

It was a cruel trick but though Sansa feigned disgust and fear with the rest of the innocent girls, Shae could see the glint of certainty in her eye.

Once again Shae had kept watch as Sansa and Oberyn swept away, but this time there was nothing more than a kiss exchanged between the two. Just one kiss, for luck, said Sansa, thought the Viper clearly wanted more. She had seen Sansa press a slender finger to his lips and watched as Oberyn kissed that finger and down the hand and to her pale wrist.

“One for luck.” Sansa whispered. In some ways she was such a child but in others she was so much a woman.

The girl that Shae had once known was gone, killed by humiliation and torture and brutality at the hand of the Lannisters. She was as wise as Tywin Lannister and as cunning as Cersei. Though not as strong as her husband, Sansa and Jaime shared a bond of bravery and stubbornness that none others had.

“Just one.” Oberyn had whispered. Over the years hundreds of women had dared try and charm the snake that was Prince Oberyn, but only Sansa had completed the great feat. With one word and one kiss she was his. “What about after?”

“How do I know there will be an after?” she said as he continued to kiss her arm.

“I would not dare perish without another one of your kisses.” He said in his thickly accented voice. Even Shae, a women wizened with age, felt her legs grow weaker at the sound of it.

“So go.” Sansa urged.

“I will win for you.” He said. “It is my promise.”

“And it is my promise that a kiss you shall receive.” Sansa said and pressed her soft lips to his brow. “After you win.”

“After I win.” He muttered, resting his forehead against hers.

“After you win.” She whispered, and despite her promise, kissed him again.


	13. Lord Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jon Snow dreams of Sansa Stark and warmer days.

_Chapter Thirteen_

_Jon_

The Lord Commander often thought of Sansa at the strangest moments. Whenever the snow fell too heavily he remembered when they had rolled around in it together, making angels and building snow people. When his tunics ripped he remembered her nimble fingers passing needle through her sewing. When ghost came running up to him he thought of the way the direwolf had played with Lady, the two almost as happy as Jon was with Sansa.

He missed her as one misses a limb or a hot meal, an aching pain. A pain so sharp sometimes he could not breathe. He had received news of her life once or twice, when his brothers had passed through Kings Landing in search of new men or supplies. She was alive and well, but married.

She was not allowed to send him letters or she would have, he was sure of it. Though Joffrey was dead she was as much a prisoner as her first husband, locked away in one of the black cells.

He ached to write to her, to confess he still loved her, still wished to marry her, and promise to take her far from King’s Landing. He would take her to Volantis or Dorne or New Ghis or wherever it was she wanted to go.

He would make the husband she had always dreamed of, though he did not have golden hair or a knight’s cloak. He was Jon Snow but he wondered if that was enough. She was a Stark, a woman of the north, as lovely as a goddess and as pure as newly fallen snow. In his eyes she was perfect, though one of his men told him that her back was covered in scars from when she was beaten by Joffrey.

Jon’s hands turned to fists at his sides and he slammed them down on the table in anger. He only wished Joffrey alive so that he could kill him again, scattering his body in every one of the seven hells.

He often wondered if Sansa still thought of him. It had been years and years, long enough for them to turn from gangly teenagers into children grown. He was sure she was as beautiful as he remembered, even more so than Cersei Lannister, who was said to have a golden cunt between her legs. He wondered if she would recognize him if he were to one day arrive unannounced and proclaim his love for her.

He stroked his beard, barking orders at his brothers. There was little food and little supplies, especially now that Stannis Baratheon, claiming the throne with the Red Woman at his side, had brought with him half of the forest’s wildlings. There were too many mouths and too little supplies.

He sighed, wishing he could keep his mind focused on food and weapons and letters that needed to be written but all that was on his mind was Sansa Stark.


	14. The Mountain and The Viper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a war might be started and a head is delivered.

_Chapter Fourteen_

_Sansa_

Sansa knew Tyrion Lannister’s lying face all to well to think he was surprised when the Mountain fell.

Oberyn was as skilled with the spear in his hands as he was with the one between his legs. His skill was clear as the point of his spear dug into Gregor Clegane’s shoulder. Sansa felt sick to her stomach as she watched the duel, wondering if she had made a mistake.

The Viper had refused proper armor, wearing only his Southern dress, a simple tunic and hose without a hint of plait or steel to protect him. Gregor was weighed down in it, covered from head to toe in steel. Then he really did look like a mountain.

When the spear was pulled from Oberyn’s hands Sansa had to stifle a scream and on the bench before her Tyrion did the same. But Oberyn was as quick as a snake, rolling between the other mans legs and coming out the other side, his spear swiping his belly until the tip of the blade ran through the skin and out came his insides.

Sansa did not even have to fake her disgust and it turned out Gregor was just as rotten inside as he was out. The stench that filled the arena was enough to make the girl vomit. Even Cersei, usually to proper and unflinching, had to cover her nose with her hand.

Then the match was over and Tyrion was delivered back to his cell, just until they could assure that Oberyn was the victor.

It was just passed nightfall when Sansa was in her shared chambers, Jaime at her side in the bed. She smelled of Oberyn, though Jaime did not notice. His mind was too full. “They won’t release him.” he said, turning towards Sansa in the bed.

“What do you mean?” asked Sansa, rubbing his shoulders softly. She was in a thin slip, the outline of her breasts clear visible and somehow the sight made Jaime feel calmer.

“Tywin plans to accuse Oberyn of treason.”

“His idea or Cersei’s?” whispered Sansa and she felt Jaime’s shoulder stiffen beneath her shoulders.

“Both.” He said finally. “They will kill them.” He said. “Both of them.”

“And start a war in the process.” She said. His shoulder bunched beneath his fingers.

“Yes.”

“Will we be safe?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder at her. She seemed so small, scared even and the memories of Joffrey’s treatment of her came flooding back. “I don’t know.” He said and laid his hand upon hers. “I will protect you.”

“How?” she said.

Jaime was quiet for a long time. As suddenly as he had appeared he jumped up from the bed, pulling a tunic over his head and stepping into a pair of plain trousers. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes.” He answered hastily. “We will be.” He said firmly, holding her gaze. “I will be back.”

“Should I-“

“Don’t wait for me.” he said and closed the door behind him. Sansa lay on her back in the bed, knowing exactly where Jaime was headed. She had heard the rattle of the silver keys in his pockets and the look of pain and misery on his face. Tyrion had counted on his brother’s love for him and Sansa had been at once doubtful, but no more.

Jaime was right, they would be safe.


	15. Where Do Whores Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa's plan is revealed to Tyrion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains A Storm of Swords spoilers as well as spoilers for season three of the television show.

_Chapter Fifteen_

_Tyrion Lannister_

There was a rattle and a bang and the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Tyrion was blinded by light, the first he had seen in ages. It was days since he had last had a visitor but it felt like months. Jaime’s face swam into view. “Jaime?” Tyrion repeated dumbly.

“Brother.” Said the Kingslayer. He heard a jangle of keys.

“What are you doing?” asked Tyrion. His voice was gruff and coarse, as he had not spoken in days. _Weeks_ , if he was honestly to himself. One word answers to guards or his interrogators did not count.

“No one can know.” Said Jaime.

“Know what?” demanded Tyrion. “What are you doing?”

A key turned in the lock and the door swung open. “Go.” Said Jaime. “There is a tunnel leading up from the dungeon. Varys is waiting for you. Do what he tells you. Go where he tells you. Do not deviate from the plan. Is that understood?”

“What plan?” the younger Lannister wanted to know.

“I’ve just told you the plan.” Said Jaime.

Tyrion was hit with a bolt of realization. _I promise it will not be much longer._ Sansa’s voice rang out in his head. Although he had wanted to believe his second wife in the recesses of his mind Tyrion had been doubtful. But she had managed just as she had promised. Tyrion was free and at Jaime’s hands nonetheless. Tyrion wondered if Sansa had magic in her blood or spells on her lips. He wondered if she was truly wicked or only cunning. He wondered if she would keep her promises, if she _could_ keep her promises.

The gate slid open and Tyrion slipped out in silence. His belly yowled with hunger and his lips were cracked with thirst. His legs were short and cramped, moving slowly as he tried to run. With one last look at his brother he moved to where Jaime had said there was a tunnel.

He crawled through the tunnels. It was no larger than a barrel width wise, but so long that Tyrion could not see the end. His fingers met cold steel as he crawled up the ladder and ascended from the black cells he had once been confined to.

Varys was waiting. He wondered how Sansa had managed that. She controlled men as a fool controls a puppet.

He paused as he climbed, recognizing his surroundings. Without another thought he climbed onto the ledge and into the hall he recognized. “There is no time.” Said Varys. There were no guards posted, to his relief, and Tyrion slipped into the chamber without answering the Spider.

Lord Tywin’s bed was as daunting as it was calculated, pristine without even a quill out of place. As Tyrion thought about it he realized it was much like the Lord Hand himself.

His father was in the garterobe and Tyrion slipped the crossbow from the wall where it hung above the desk. He notched a red feather arrow, drawing back the string and holding it so tightly that his fingers blotched red.

He kicked the door open. Tywin jumped and looked up with such anger in his eyes that if he could have turned a man to stone he would have. But Tyrion did not balk.

“What is it Tyrion?” he asked, his voice cold as ice. “You don’t think I mean to execute you, do you? Oberyn won his battle by some stroke of luck but you will still not be free, I suppose you know this.” When Tyrion did not answer he continued. “The Wall is not such a terrible place.” Said his father. “It is home to many bastards and broken things.”

“What did you do with Tysha?” Tyrion whispered. His voice was firm but had lost volume in his anger. He was shaking, the crossbow held high in his arms.

“I did not kill her.” he said calmly. “Lower the bow, Tyrion. Don’t be a fool.”

“What did you do with her?” Tyrion repeated.

“Where do whores go.” He replied coolly. Tyrion did not blink. “A steward sent her away. We thought she might need a cart to carry all her silver but she managed just fine.” the crossbow loosened with a twang and the arrow protruded from Tywin’s shoulder. “Tyrion!” he cried in rage, trying to stand but the arrow had lodged into the wood behind and he was pinned.

“And now Sansa.”

“What about the Northern bitch?”

Another arrow stuck out from his chest. “You keep her prisoner.” Said Tyrion.

“Should she be free they will take up her cause and she could choose to attack us. The people that have kept her safe-“

“Safe?” Tyrion forced a laugh. “Beaten bloody and sold into marriage is not safe.”

“She will outlive us all.” Tywin replied, having no reaction to Tyrion’s words.

“Yes.” Said Tyrion. “She will.” And he loosened the last arrow. As the head protruded from Tywin’s neck there was a gargle of words as the Hand struggled to speak.

Tyrion could have laughed. The stink that filed the privy gave ample evidence that the oft-repeated jape about his father was just another lie. The smell proved that Lord Tywin Lannister did not, in the end, shit gold.


	16. A Funeral For A Lion, A Victory For A Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the funeral of Tywin is conducted and Cersei begins her descent into madness.

_Sansa Stark_

As a proper lady of the South, Sansa dressed in black and stood silently beside her husband at the funeral of her Lord Protector, Tywin Lannister. His corpse filled the room with the smell of decay so greatly that half the room was forced to cover their noses. But Cersei stood tall, her face deadpan, refusing to buckle under the pressure.

Had she been smart she would have immediately appointed Kevan Lannister hand of the King, someone to help young Tommen. But Cersei Lannister was not smart and, as Sansa had calculated, she kept the regency all to herself.

Sansa held tightly to Jaime’s arm, her fingers stroking his affectionately. He smelled like Cersei, not that Sansa was surprised, but the smell of flowers and perfume was not strong enough to cover the smell of Tywin.

Cersei’s neck was scratched and Sansa could see blood beneath Jaime’s nails. She snuck a look at Oberyn, finding the Southern man already watching her. He resisted the urge to smile, though he was nearly as happy as she.

Shae stood on her other side, and had informed her lady that Tyrion was safe, hidden away in the city where he would never be found, as was their plan.

Sansa could see the madness blooming in Cersei like a flower in springtime. Her eyes were fire, her lips pressed so tightly together that they glowed white. Her hands were clamped tightly around the shoulders of Tommen, Margaery on his other side, standing as tall and regal as the Queen regent herself.

She looked lovely, Margaery having helped Sansa dress that morning. The black dress she wore was tight, far tighter than was presentable but, as usual, nobody paid her any mind. Sansa’s sleeves were long and her collar wide as a bowl, showing off her prominent collarbones and the soft silver pendant she wore around her neck.

Inside the locket held the direwolf of her house, something that made her feel as safe as she had in her father’s arms.

After watching Tywin’s body be taken away Sansa sat beside her husband and the Queen at their dining table, eating small bites of chicken and pheasant. Oberyn was on her other side, his paramour three tables down, Cersei having refused to allow the woman at the head table.

He touched her knee beneath the table. She returned his touch with a brush of her hand across his thigh, feeling him respond in more ways than one.

Sansa remembered the letter she had given Tyrion, watching as the youngest of the Lannister's clutched the small square of parchment. She had written in code, thought she trusted Tyrion truly, she would take no chances with its meaning. She hopes it would reach no one but her intended recipient.

******

It was nearly a month after the death of her father when Cersei Lannister showed the first sign of her madness.

Sansa awoke in the middle of the night, feeling a sharp rumble beneath her feet and a loud crash just outside her window. Jaime jerked awake beside her, grabbing his sword from the night table beside the bed and pulling it from its sheath as he struggled to find his tunic.

Sansa heard shouting outside the door and pulled her cloak on just as Shae came through the doors still in her nightclothes. “What is it?” she asked the handmaiden.

Jaime demanded an answer from her. “It’s Cersei, my lady, my lord.” Said Shae breathlessly, her eyes wide with horror and confusion. “She has burned down the tower of the hand.”


	17. Red, Red, Red

_Jon Snow_

He had read the letter twelve times, yet he continued to read with no end to the repetition in sight. Sansa’s voice came through the page as if she were reading it to him. At first he had been confused by the letter, finding no signature and no wax seal upon the envelope.

Samwell Tarly had delivered the letter as soon as it had arrived, as he usually did every morning when the ravens brought in the letters. “You have got another letter, my Lord.” Said Sam. He often did, Lords complaining of robbers or pillaging in Mole's Town.

“You don’t have to call me that.” Said Jon to his friend, as he always did. Sam had bowed politely and left his Lord to his solitude, alone with the letter and a cup of hot mulled wine.

Jon had found the script of the letter curly and winding, the black ink neat and the lines as even as if they had been measured. But it was coded, the words backwards or upside down or even written in other tongues, written in tongues he himself had thought of when he was a boy. It had taken him all of two seconds to realize who had written the letter, recognizing the language he and Sansa had devised as children.

“ _My dearest Jon Snow_.” The letter had begun.

Jon felt as if an arrow had pieced his heart. He remembered how it had felt upon leaving Winterfell, watching as Sansa stood beside her father, dressed in her winter coat and wearing Jon's leather gloves. She had waved, her eyes as sad as he had ever seen them.

“ _I long for you every day. King’s Landing is as awful as the stories told. It smells of death and greed and loneliness. It does not snow; a cool breeze has never even been among us. Though Jaime is kind to me he is not you, and for that I suffer_.” she said. “ _He does not allow them to hurt me_.”

 _Not like before_ , he thought, though the words went unsaid by Sansa.

“ _With her son dead and her father gone Cersei will soon go mad, it is only a matter of days now. Sometimes I still dream of Winterfell, of the days when we were together. I dream of Robb and Arya and Bran and Rickon. I dream of Lady and Grey Wind and Ghost. I dream of a life where we are once more together.”_

Jon felt that if he were stabbed it would be less painful. There was a spot on the page where the ink was smudged and his heart panged for fear that Sansa had cried while writing.

“ _Lord Commander,”_ she wrote. How she could have known was beyond him, though, he knew, Sansa had ways of knowing all. _“I am so proud of what you have become Jon. I am often afraid that one day you will fall to the wildlings. The thought often keeps me up at night.”_

His eyes burned, his lips pressing firmly together. He sipped the hot mulled wine he had been brought. “ _My Jon, my Lord Commander_ , _I love you. I love you._ _Come back to me_.” she wrote. “ _Please come back to me_.” 

Jon frowned, thinking of Sansa. He thought of her auburn hair and the way it always fell like a waterfall over her shoulders. He thought of her sea green eyes and her red, red lips. Red from the snow, Arya had once told him, but her lips were nowhere near as red as Sansa’s.

Jon’s eyes burned. And he read the letter again.


	18. The Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oberyn Martell receives a gift.

_Oberyn Martell_

“You must go, my love.” Said Oberyn, brushing his lips against Ellaria’s cheek. He felt a tear touch his lips and he smiled, wiping it away with a finger. “You will be safe.” He promised.

“Do you love her?” asked Ellaria Sand. Her face was pink from crying and her hair blowing wildly in the wind.

“My darling?”

“Do you love her?” she repeated, struggling to keep her voice down in the atrium of the Red Keep. “Sansa Stark, do you love her?”

“I have only eyes for you.” Oberyn promised. “She is just a girl.”

“A girl whose perfume you have been wearing for weeks.” She pushed him away lightly, the Dornishman taking a surprised step back.

He took her hand, kissing her fingers. Her hands were far rougher than Sansa’s, callused from working and from days of hard riding. Her perfume was overwhelming, too strong for his tastes, and her hair was greasy from not being washed.

“Ellaria, my love.” Oberyn muttered, kissing the inside of her wrist. “The handmaidens recycle the same soaps and shampoos.” He said. “The Lady Sansa and I most like use the same soap.”

She looked unconvinced but did no longer fight him. “You will deliver this letter to none other than Doran himself. Not Arianne, not Tyene, not Nymeria. Doran.” He said. She had tucked the parchment into the inside of her shirt pocket, hidden beneath the layers of silks and velvets.

“Doran.” Ellaria repeated. “I know how to obey instructions, Oberyn.” She snapped.

He held her by the shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. “Ellaria, this is very important.” He said. “If this letter falls into the wrong hands it will mean war.” Said Oberyn. “Certain war.” Another tear ran down her tan cheek. “You and I will die. Elia and Obella and Dorea and Loreza will die. Sarella and Tyene and Nymeria and Obara will die. Doran and Arianne will die. Dorne will be crushed until it is nothing but sand and ash.”

“I understand.” She said.

“Be safe, my love.” He kissed her cheek softly, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Please be safe.”

Her arms closed around his waist, pulling him tightly against her. With her face dug into his neck, her warm breath filling his nose, he knew he would miss her. Yet he could only think of Sansa.

Sansa’s soft, sweet smell, her long auburn mane, the smallness of her waist, the curve of her lips, the pillowy nature of her lips.

Oberyn held Ellaria at arms length. “Be safe.” He said again. “And the letter goes only to Doran.”

“Only to Doran.” She repeated.

Three and a half weeks later, as Oberyn sat in the garden reading a novel he was approached by a guard. “Ser Oberyn.” He said with a bow. “This was sent for you.” He handed the Lord of Dorne a box, far heavier than Oberyn would have expected by the look of it.

The knight bowed again and left, leaving quickly. As soon as the guard had fled Oberyn undid the red ribbon that was wrapped around the box, flipping the lid. The smell that filled his nose was poisonous, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

He gasped, putting a hand to his mouth and felt something inside him harden.

“What is it, my Lord?” asked Sansa.

Oberyn had not heard her approach, her footsteps as light as the steps of a cat. She stood behind him, a hand resting lightly upon his shoulder. As she took another step closer she gasped, her hand falling back to her side and she nearly fainted, Oberyn pulling her onto the bench beside him.

He held the box in his lap, feeling the wetness of blood on his lap after it had seeped through the box. “I’m so sorry.” Said Sansa, her fingers brushing against his.

But Oberyn did not speak. He only continued to stare at Ellaria’s head, the scent of her perfume still as overwhelming as it once was but now mixed with the scent of decay.


	19. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa and Oberyn conceive a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been having some problems with a lack of inspiration, but alas, here we are: chapter nineteen.

_Chapter Nineteen_

_Sansa Stark_

Sansa once again found herself in a room she had spent more time in during the last few weeks than the entirety of her stay at King’s Landing. But this time there was no time for lovemaking.

Oberyn stared at her, his dark eyes wide and unlinking. His eyes were red rimmed and it was clear he was not sleeping and had not been for a very long time. Sansa imagined him tossing and turning at night, remembering the image of Ellaria’s head in the box or the smell of her perfume or the way she had felt in his arms.

Sansa knew the feeling too well, thought she counted herself lucky that Jon was still alive, if only far away. She could still smell him, wooden and deep and sweet, and feel his arms around her waist, pulling him close when they were along.

In this light the circles beneath Oberyn’s eyes looked like bruises. “Cersei plans to accuse you of treason.” Sansa said.

He seemed unfazed. “Do they know about the poison?”

“Most like not.” She said. “But they will.” The room smelled like old soap and stagnant water, the hair inside her nose curling. “It is time you returned to Dorne.”

“Come with me.” he said.

“I cannot.” She replied almost immediately. She had known he would say this.

“You have little to stay here for. Tyrion is exiled. Tywin is dead. Joffrey is dead. Tommen will be King in name only; Cersei has her claws dug into him. There is nothing here for you.”

“Jaime is-“

“Sansa,” he began, interrupting her. “We promised we would not lie to each other.” He said. “Do not tell me that you love your husband.”

“I do.” she said sternly. But her voice wavered.

His eyes reamed on hers. She wondered how a man sitting on top of a mop bucket in a maid’s closet could have such intensity to his voice. “You love another.” He said.

“I do.” she repeated. She imagined Jon atop the wall, in the cold and the snow, Ghost at his side, a sword in his hand. _Lord Commander Jon Snow_ , she corrected herself. “But that changes nothing.”

“It changes everything.” Oberyn said, his hand finding hers in the low light. “If you remain in King’s Landing one of two things will happen. Either Cersei will have you killed. You are the only remaining heir to Winterfell, while you are alive, the Northern Rebellion is alive. Or,” he continued. “Cersei will have you tortured within an inch of your life and then killed.”

Sansa did not respond. “Dorne is-“

“-Your salvation.” He said. “We will keep your safe. Doran will keep you safe.”

_As you kept Ellaria safe_ , she thought but did not dare speak. “Jaime will face the punishment if I leave.”

“Jaime is a man grown.” Said Oberyn. “And Cersei will not harm him.”

_No, it’s only me she hates_. “Alright.” Said the auburn haired girl.

Oberyn pushed himself to his feet. “Sansa you can’t stay here!” he half shouted. Sansa was sure Shae had her ear pressed to the door outside. He stopped himself. “Alright?” he repeated, as if he was not sure he heard correctly.

“Alright.” She said again. _Would Jon be able to find her? What if he came all the way to King’s Landing and she wasn’t there?_

As if reading her mind Oberyn spoke, taking her hand again. “He will find you.” He promised. “If Ellaria had traveled to the Shadowlands of Asshai or the Pyramids of Meereen I would have found her.”

The words made her smile. “Thank you.” She said. They made a plan to leave in the midst of the night, after Jaime had long fallen asleep and Cersei was too deep into her cups to realize until it was too late.

“There is one last thing.” Said Oberyn.

“What is it?”

He frowned. “The truth.” He said. “It’s time you knew the truth of your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :)


	20. Disappearing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa's absence is noted and Jaime finds he has new scars.

_Chapter Twenty_

_Jaime Lannister_

He had known something was amiss from the moment he had awoken to find his bed empty. “Sansa?” he had called, sitting upright. Perhaps she was the bath or finding a dress for breakfast. Or perhaps she had woken early to break her fast with Lady Margaery, as she often did.

“My lord?” said one of Sansa’s handmaiden’s after he had called her.

“Where is my wife?” he asked. Her side of the bed was completely made, her pillow untouched. The silver chain on her bedside table was missing. 

She looked uncomfortable. “She has not been found, my lord.”

Jaime had jumped out of bed with such force that he had slipped on the mat beside the bed and gone flying across the room. If it were another day it might have been funny, the Kingslayer flying around the room, stark naked.

He dressed quickly and gave the handmaiden a list of places to check. Margaery Tyrell had not seen her, neither had Cersei or Tommen. Tyrion was gone, so Jaime could not ask him. Shae was also missing but Jaime had assumed she had escaped with Tyrion and Varys.

The castle was a mess. The alarm bells were loudly ringing, the King’s guard marching up and down the stairs. Every room was searched, ever closet checked, every square of the garden investigated.

Sansa’s closet was untouched, everything in place just as it was on her vanity. It was as if she had just disappeared.

He would have thought so if Oberyn Martell had not disappeared as well. A merchant was dragged in from Blackwater Bay and thrown to the floor by two members of the Kings guard. “Three figures set sail at midnight.” The man promised.

“Did you see their faces?” asked Cersei.

“No.” the man said. He wrung his hands nervously.

“Then what use are you?” demanded Cersei and the merchant was thrown out of the castle. “Have you found your wife?” she asked Jaime. The word was filled with venom.

“No.” he said.

Cersei looked as if had not slept properly in weeks. There were heavy purple marks beneath her eyes and her face was pale as winter snow. There was a chalice of wine in her hand and her hands shook as she brought it to her lips. “I knew she was a traitor.” She said. “We should have killed her when we had the chance. Instead she is gallivanting all over the world with Oberyn Martell and Tyrion’s whore.”

“Mind your tongue.” Said Jaime.

Her eyes flashed. “What?” she demanded.

Jaime’s good hand closed around her neck, squeezing and squeezing. “Mind your tongue.” He repeated through gritted teeth.

Her lips crashed against his and his hand loosened around her throat, thought he could see the bruises already forming where his fingers had been. Her chambers were empty but the doors were unlocked, though the danger of being intruded upon only increased their desperation.

Cersei’s nails left long cuts running down his back and his golden hand left a string of bruises down her side. As they lay breathlessly beside each other on the cold tile floor Jaime could feel the bruises and cuts and pain, both internal and external.

He had always known Sansa had never loved him. No, his son had killed her father, her brother, her mother. His sister had nearly strangled her. His son had her stripped and beaten in front of the entire court. He had seen the scars on her back from when it happened.

But Sansa was a Stark and the Starks placed duty above all. And it was her duty to marry him, to consummate their marriage, to do her wifely duties. But he had thought he had felt love in the way she brushed his hair down or ran her fingers down his golden hand.

But he was wrong because she was gone, on some ship with some Dornishmen. The thought made him ache.

“She never loved you.” Said Cersei. The words sent a knife of pain through his chest. He wanted to strangle her again but instead found her lips once again on his, her nails once again leaving scars on his back, her teeth drawing blood on his stomach and neck.

But Sansa was gone and nobody, not even Cersei, his twin, the woman he had thought to be the love of his life, could touch him the way she had.


	21. Ship Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa ponders the news.

_Chapter Twenty-One_

_Sansa Stark_

The journey to Dorne was far easier and quicker than Sansa had originally thought. The ship Oberyn had found for them was crowded with barrels of fish and carts of winter apples and Sansa and Shae were forced to share a cabin, but still the conditions were comfortable. _More comfortable than King’s Landing_.

But Sansa could barely even think. Oberyn’s words circled her mind non-stop with the intensity of a song lyric stuck in a person’s head. She could not sleep, could not eat, could not do much more than think. _Targaryen. Jon Targaryen._

At first she had only thought that now their love could be. They could be married, have children without scorn. But those were the thoughts of a young, innocent girl and she no longer was one.

_Jon Targaryen_. _Lord Commander Jon Targaryen_. Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen is his aunt. If the rumors could be believed than Aegon Targaryen was his brother. Not Robb, not Bran, not Rickon. Aegon. A silver haired boy neither of them had ever met.

Jon would be next in line to be King. King of the Seven Kingdoms. If the war against the Lannisters succeeded Jon would sit on the Iron Throne instead of Tommen. The thought made gooseflesh appear on her arms and her stomach churned, thought being on the precarious waves did not help.

More than anything she wanted to see him. She would do anything to see him, to feel his arms around her, to embrace him as tightly as she could and never let go. But Jon was even farther now, the ship beneath her feet taking her farther and farther from him.

She would write him as soon as she arrived in Dorne. Yes, Oberyn promised she would be safe. Promised she would be free. But still something inside her worried. Cersei had seemed kind at first. Joffrey had seemed kind at first.

“I will not pretend to love Jon’s mother.” Said Oberyn. “She dishonored my sister. She cast down our family name.”

Sansa had heard the stories of Rhaegar and Elia and Lyanna. Her father’s sister. The woman whose crypt she had often seen while exploring with Arya. “But he is just a boy.” Said Oberyn. “He does not know the dishonor his mother brought to us.”

Sansa knew of the Martell’s disdain for the Lannisters and their support of the Targaryens. Oberyn said his brother had sent Oberyn’s nephews to Essos to search for the Dragon Queen and pledge their swords to her.

She thought of Tyrion standing beside Daenerys. He was a Lannister. Would she trust him? Would she feed him to her dragons? The thought made her uneasy.

“If it is true about Jon,” said Sansa. “How do you plan to secure his loyalties?”

“Most like Doran will offer his daughter to him for marriage. My daughters might be offered as well.” He did not look pleased at the thought but then again, neither did Sansa.

Oberyn leaned back in his seat. “He is the one you love.” He said.

“Yes.” Said she. “Jon is mine.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

She thought for a moment. “Five years.” She said. “He must still think of me as a child.”

Oberyn laughed. “I can promise he does not. Rumors of your beauty are widespread. And in a place as cold as the Wall I am sure he holds the image of you in his head to warm him.”

She smiled. “I am sorry. About Ellaria.”

His eyes were sad, staring down at the floor. “As am I.” he said. “I was a fool to let her go.”

“You could not have known.” Said Sansa, gripping his hand. “You will see her again one day.”

“Yes.” Said Oberyn with a smile. “One day.”


	22. Midnight Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the plan is altered and Sansa is afraid.

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

_Oberyn Martell_

He awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright in bed as his ears registered the sounds of knocking. Pulling on his breeches he walked swiftly to the door, finding Sansa’s handmaiden on the other side. “What is it?” he questioned.

Her face had gone pale and the dark circles under his eyes showed she had gotten little sleep. “It’s Sansa she-“

She need not say any more. Oberyn was already halfway down the hallway at the first mention of her name and was at the door to her cabin before Shae had even finished her sentence. Her door was open a crack and he entered upon hearing the sounds of moans.

She had her knees pulled to her chest, her chin resting upon them softly, and her head was buried in her lap. “What is it dearest?” he asked, his hand finding her brow hot as fire. “You are feverish.”

She slapped his hand away. “We have to stop.” She said.

“What is it?” he asked, sitting beside her on the bed. The bunk was small, Shae and Sansa having spent the night cramped as they squeezed together and by her lack of clothes and the stifling air of the cabin Oberyn assumed they had slept nude. Though the thought was stirring he pushed it aside for later contemplation and turned back to the girl in his arms.

“Jon.” She said breathlessly. “I dreamed of him. I dreamed…”

“Dreamed what, dearest?” he urged her to continue.

Her eyes were fluttery and her breathing ragged, her skin having adopted a sickening green shade that Oberyn had only seen once before as Ellaria labored Elia. “Something has happened to him. He is not well. I saw him. I saw it. They hurt him.”

“Who did?” his hand traced her bare shoulders, her skin as soft as silk beneath his touch.

“His brothers.” She said worriedly. “His brothers of the Night’s Watch. We have to stop. I have to go to him.”

“Sansa-“ he began.

“No!” she said, the blankets falling from around her and revealing the body Oberyn so highly admired. Ignoring the slope of her breast was not an easy feat, but the Lady was distressed and Oberyn turned his attention back to her. “I must go to him.”

Oberyn knew that no amount of words would convince her so he did not try. Had the situation been reversed he knew that he would never be convinced to abandon Ellaria. “The Lannister’s are searching for you.” He said. “It is not safe.”

“I will go him.” she said, meeting his eyes. Her eyes were shockingly blue, the color startling as she looked so suddenly up at him. “Whether you come as well I care not. But I will go to him.”

Oberyn remained quiet for a moment as he pulled the blanket over her shoulders. “As my Lady commands.” He said and rose from his place at her side.

It took quite a bit of talk to convince the Captain to turn the ship around but with an extra handful of gold and a few sweet words the ship was turned and Sansa was finally lulled to sleep, Shae standing watch at her side protectively. “You ought to rest.” Said Oberyn.

She watched her Lady sleep, her dark eyes clouded by lack of sleep. Her face was colorless and her hair half a mess from a night of tossing and turning. “She needs it more than I.” she whispered.

Sansa’s face was peaceful as she slept, though her fever caused her to mumble and flinch in pain every so often. But illuminated in the moonlight she looked as beautiful as thought she were the subject of an artist’s painting, the red of her hair a striking contrast against the pallor of her skin.

“Aye.” Said Oberyn, pressing closed the door behind him. “That she does. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. 
> 
> I hope everyone had a fantastic holiday and will have an amazing New Year :)


	23. Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jon receives a letter.

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

_Jon Snow_

It had been a month since Stannis Baratheon’s departure and thought the soldiers were gone, the wildlings remained, and there were still too many mouths to feed and too little food.

Sam had brought him the letter, as he always did after the influx of ravens every morning and upon seeing the familiar sigil marked on the parchment Jon felt a knife of fear twist in his gut.

The pink sealing wax had often been teased for its color and femininity but Jon knew the truth of it. _Pink for the color of flesh_ , he thought. The flayed man stuck out on the seal sharply and Jon felt shivers run down his spine.

“Who is it from?” asked Sam, taking the seat opposite him.

“Ramsay Bolton.” Said Jon thought gritted teeth.

Even from the first words of the letter Jon Snow knew the meaning was to infuriate him and his lips were so tightly pressed together they glowed pink.

Addressed to “bastard” the letter was obviously meant for him and as Jon read he only grew more infuriated. “’Your false king is dead.’” Said the first line. “’He and all his host were smashed in seven days of battle. Their heads rest upon the walls of Winterfell.’” Jon read aloud.

The thought that his father’s home had been desecrated by such madness made him wild and several times he was forced to stop reading and take a breath, his stomach tightly clenched. “’I want his daughter and his red witch. I want you to send them to be bastard, and I will not trouble you or your black crows. Keep them from me and I will cut out your bastard heart and eat it.’” he read. “Signed, Ramsay Bolton.” Said Jon. “’Trueborn Lord of Winterfell.’”

The color had drained from Sam’s face and the man stared back at him in shock, unsure of what to say. “I will be right back.” He said, standing suddenly and disappearing through the doors.

As Jon read the letter for a third time he returned with Melisandre in tow, the Red Woman looking intently at Jon and waiting for whatever news he bore. “Go on then, Lord Commander.” She urged. “Tell me what is in this letter.”

As he shared the Bastard of Bolton’s words Melisandre’s face remained impassive, her red eyes flickering and the ruby at her throat pulsated. “I will go to him at once.” She said, standing.

“Absolutely not.” Said Jon firmly. “I will not have your skin turned into a winter coat.”

She gave him a small smile. “I am not afraid of death, Lord Snow. There is but one hell and that is-“

“That is the Bolton’s flaying room.” Said Jon, cutting her off. “I will not give you up, needless of your objections.” He said. “Neither will I give up Shireen Baratheon.”

“What then?” asked Sam.

Looking through the window Jon saw the snow heavily falling and was once again reminded of Winterfell. He could practically feel Sansa’s arms around him and the way her breath had always smelled like lemon and her lips had always been sweet. “I know what I must do.”

Standing in the main hall Jon was met with the eyes of two hundred of his brother’s. Their faces were dark and gaunt and hungry, their cheekbones sticking through their skin and the circles under their eyes dark as bruises.

He saw many familiar faces. Samwell at the head of the room, just before him, his presence a comfort of the Lord Commander. Melisandre standing near the door, her red robes standing out against the darkness of his brother’s black robes. Tormond stood out as well, the sharp red of his hair and beard drawing his eye, even from across the room.

Raising his hands for quiet Jon began. “I have summoned you to make plans for the Night’s Watch.” he began. The words were difficult to say. He was met with a wall of quizzical faces. “I ride south on the morrow.”

Every man began to shout and a hundred men jumped to their feet all at once but Tormond sounded the horn for silence and the room was soon enveloped in it. “It is not for the Watch to take place in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms. It is not for us to oppose the Bastard of Bolton and his men and avenge Stannis Baratheon.” There were a few nods here and there at his words but no major objection as of yet. “I mean to make the Bastard answer for his words.”

There were several shouts but Jon spoke over them. “I will not ask you to forsake your vows!” he shouted and the voices died away. “I ride for Winterfell and I ride alone. Unless any man will willingly join me you will remain here and continue to defend the kingdoms.”

Many men threw themselves to their feet, the swords in their hands symbolizing their allegiance and Jon felt pride run through him. _I have my swords_ , he thought. _Swords enough to make the bastard pay_.

The men of the Night’s Watch filed out of the hall and Melisandre approached him, her face hard and the ruby at her neck glowing like he had never seen it. “I stand with you.” She said finally.

“I should have told Lady Selyse first.” He muttered. She had a right to know her Lord Husband was dead.

“I will.” Said Melisandre. “She trusts my word.” _Over yours_ , he thought, but the words went unsaid.

With a streak of red she disappeared and Jon went neck to his chambers. Bowen Marsh stood before him, his face red and with the unmistakable sight of tears in his eyes. “What is it?” Jon demanded. “Are you unwell?”

But the man did not have time to answer. Instead he swung at Jon with all the force he could muster and the punch to his belly hurt like nothing he had ever felt. It was worse than the sting of the lantern he had once thrown at a Wight. It was worse than the pain of leaving Winterfell. Worse than knowing he might never see Sansa again.

When Marsh removed his hand the knife he had placed stayed solid where it was, the steel digging deeper into Jon’s stomach as he collapsed, the snow stinging his skin. In the distance he heard the sound of the horn being blown. _Twice, for rangers returning_.

He was struck again, this time between the shoulders and the blood ran down his back, the wound steaming in the cold night air. He did not cry out. No, if he was to die he would die with honor. He would die in silence as his lord father had once done.

Jon had dreamed of Sansa the night before and as he lay dying thought only of her, holding the picture of her firmly in his mind as the daylight began to slip away and only darkness enveloped him.


	24. Two Hells and One Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author Note: I really was not happy with the way the chapter turned out when I first wrote it so I completely rewrote. It is necessary that you re-read this chapter for the purpose of plot and continuity. Sorry to be a bother! Even authors make mistakes :)

**_Author Note: I really was not happy with the way the chapter turned out when I first wrote it so I completely rewrote. It is necessary that you re-read this chapter for the purpose of plot and continuity. Sorry to be a bother! Even authors make mistakes :)_ **

_Chapter Twenty-Four_

_Oberyn Martell_

Sansa Lannister had not left the Lord Commander’s side for hours. With great care and caution they had managed to smuggle the man from his place at the Wall but with the severity of his wounds the trip was far longer than it should have been. Sansa had refused to leave his side and Oberyn had grown tired of trying to convince her otherside and in the end was thankful for her stubbornness. They had tried several times and several ways to latch Jon to the saddle of the horse but it was to no avail, each way ending with the man in black sliding from the saddle and falling into the snow, his wounds worsening each time.

But with Sansa’s arms around him he stayed firmly in place, thought unconscious, slumped forward and resting against the neck of the brown mare. They rode hard and fast through Moletown to avoid any enemies that might have followed them with hopes of reaching the Dornish ship within three days.

Melisandre had swept away with them, her red robes standing out against the pale snow like flame. She tended to the bulk of his wounds quickly, fastening bandages and creating a sling for his injured arm but the deeper wounds were troublesome.

Oberyn remembered the first moment Melisandre had spoken. The snow beneath the boy’s body had gone pink from blood and Sansa had thrown herself upon him, her Dornish tunic stained instantly, the rivets of blood that ran down his skin passing to her as she embraced him.

Oberyn had moved quickly into action, the chains he had forged at the Citadel doing wonders. His callused fingers had pinched closed the bleeding wounds while he was carried hurriedly away. In the pocket of his sword belt he carried the small vial he always did, popping the cork and shaking it before forcing the blue liquid down Jon’s throat.

The boy had moaned loudly and flinched, gritting his teeth for a few moments before easing off into sleep. His black furs were marred with blood and the leather surcoat had been stripped away to view his wounds, his chest smeared with blood that had caught in the curling hairs of his chest.

Melisandre had moved into his side, her dark red eyes sweeping over him. There was something ominous about her Oberyn could not place and his hands tightened on Sansa’s shoulders should he need to pull her away.

“Sansa Stark.” The woman said. Her voice was soft and sweet as song.

“We have not met.” Sansa replied easily. Her eyes were fierce and unblinking, meeting the eyes of the red witch more boldly than any of the knights would.

“I have seen you in my fires.” She replied, as if that was answer enough when in truth it brought only more questions to mind. “You are the lover of Jon Snow.” Sansa’s face remained impassive. “The lover but not the wife.”

“I do not need a lecture on manners and propriety at this moment.” Snapped Sansa. Oberyn had summoned his guards at once and the bronze skinned men carried him easily, even the smallest of jolts sending a look of anguish across his face.

Melisandre stripped the heavy cloak away from him and tore at the laces of his tunic, exposing his wounds to the light. The bandages she had places sucked up the blood hungrily and they were forced to change them several times.

Oberyn could see the tears in her eyes thought she did not let them fall and wished he could take her into his arms and embrace her. Sansa had been allowed one moment of hope by the Gods. Just one single moment of peace in all her years of suffering though the hell that was King’s Landing. Most like she was sweet and innocent and gentle before the Lannister’s took that from her. Elia had been the same. Ever kind and gentle and curious, wide eyed and bushy tailed. _Before she was stolen. Before the Lannister’s ripped her innocence from her._

“You.” Sansa said suddenly. A hundred eyes looked up at the scene before them.  The red haired woman had caught Melisandre by the sleeve of her gown and the witches’ eyes watched her, half startled, half intrigued, awaiting her words in forced calm.

In a whirl of movement too fast for even Oberyn to see Sansa had pulled the Dornish blade from his hip and forced the Red Woman to the ground, bringing the blade to her neck tightly enough to draw a single drop of blood. The men watched as it rolled down her milky skin, as red as her eyes and her robe.

“Bring him back to me.” Sansa said through gritted teeth, holding so tightly to the blade that one of the jewels broke her skin. “If he dies I swear by the Old Gods and the New you will be next.”

A moment of silence passed over them before Melisandre spoke, her eyes narrowed yet no less intrigued. “There is but one true god.”

Sansa remained unfazed. “And would you care to meet him so soon?”

Oberyn held Sansa as the woman worked, his arm wrapped about her shoulder, her body leaned halfway into his. But she did not cry, to his surprise, but she trembled, shaking with anger and fear and sadness, shaking so hard it was a wonder she did not bite off her own tongue.

“It will be alright, my darling.” He murmured. He continuing to whisper softly in Dornish and thought she understood naught of the words the effect was the same, calming the girl until she melted into relaxation. But she never took her eyes off of the injured man. Not once.

Even as they rode through the wintery landscape she did not relent. For her it was a more difficult ride than them all and more than once Oberyn pleaded with her to allow he take her place in holding the boy but she refused each time. As she rode she held firm a pale arm about his waist, careful not to graze the wounds that so greatly pained him, and the other held steadily to the horses reins, guiding the tired mare forward.

Her face had gone pale as the Lord Commander’s, her lips violet from cold and her eyes drooping closed from tiredness.

They rode all night. There were no supplies to make camp and no inns to rest at and though they stopped often to monitor the boy they did not rest. Even thought Sansa recognized the land where they had arrived she did not allow herself one moment of rest until her sore feet made contact with the smooth wood of the Dornish vessel and her knees gave way beneath her, her tired body collapsing into Oberyn’s arms.

She was asleep even before he lay her upon the mattress in her cabin but when he roused himself in the midst of the night to check upon her he found the bed empty. He did not fret, for he knew where to find her.

Melisandre slept soundly in the corner of the room and awoke only when the door slid open. She did not speak but gave a small nod of approval and allowed he pass her, raising the lantern to see Sansa beside Jon Snow. She was curled at his side like a kitten with its mother, careful not to touch his wounds and Melisandre had laid a fur pelt across them both, spending hours through the night watching the rise and fall of his breath.

“Will he survive?” asked Oberyn, his voice soft as to not wake the sleeping pair.

She waited a long moment before answering, letting out a sight that made Oberyn think the worst before finally speaking. “Yes.” Said she.

He let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding.


	25. The Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Note: I really was not happy with the way the chapter turned out when I first wrote it so I completely rewrote. It is necessary that you re-read this chapter for the purpose of plot and continuity. Sorry to be a bother! :)

**_Author Note: I really was not happy with the way the chapter turned out when I first wrote it so I completely rewrote. It is necessary that you re-read this chapter for the purpose of plot and continuity. Sorry to be a bother! :)_ **

_Chapter Twenty-Five_

_Oberyn Martell_

Author Note: I really was not happy with the way the chapter turned out when I first wrote it so I completely rewrote. It is necessary that you re-read this chapter for the purpose of plot and continuity. Sorry to be a bother! Even authors make mistakes :)

The journey was harder upon Sansa than any of the other crewmembers. From the first moment she stepped aboard after leaving Castle Black she had felt no relief from seasickness. Her face had grown pale as snow and during the later days of their aboard the vessel she was unable to stand for more than a few minutes at a time leading the crew to question whether or not she felt the pain of mother’s stomach.

“I cannot be.” Said she when Oberyn had broached the subject. “I have not had relations with a man since leaving King’s Landing.”

Oberyn thought back to their meetings fondly and nearly smiled before the thoughts of Jaime Lannister made his smile disappear. Sansa had always claimed he was nothing less than a gentleman to her but still he could not shake the disgust.

But her stomach would be far larger if she were expecting a child and after Melisandre crushed some herbs into her wine she fell quickly asleep and did not wake for three days. Oberyn was glad for it. They were all desperate for a good night’s rest but Sansa even more so, the strain of her ride catching up with her.

When she slept she dreamed of Jon Snow and Sansa often woke up screaming, requiring coaxing from Oberyn to fall back into sleep. He had long ago given up sleeping in his own cabin, knowing each night he would rise and stumble blindly through the darkness to Sansa’s apartments and instead chose to occupy the soft satin chair that had been pushed up to the corner of the cabin.

Perhaps not the most comfortable of lodging but he did not mind it. in stroking her hair and whispering to her in the darkness he was reminded once more of Elia. She had been prone to night terrors as a child and only Oberyn could calm her, the same songs he sang to his sister the ones that eased Sansa.

Within a fortnight they arrived in Dorne, the port having been prepared for their arrival by Doran, to whom Oberyn had written earlier. Both Jon and Sansa were whisked away in secret, their carriage heavily guarded and heavily curtained.

Melisandre and Oberyn rode in uncomfortable silence in the carriage behind them, their eyes never leaving the spinning white wheels. But they arrived at the Water gardens without problem and without many prying eyes following their movements.

Nymeria Sand was the first to meet them, her copper skin gleaming in the sunlight and her braid whipping through the salty air behind her as she ran. “Father!” she cried and leaped into his arms.

“My darling.” He said with a kiss upon her brow. “Where are your lovely sisters?”

As if on queue Obara and Tyene appeared, rushing around the corner of the fountain to join his embrace. Their combined weight nearly knocked him to his feet but he was glad for it, his longing for his daughters growing each day he was apart from them.

When Obara met his eyes he knew what she meant to say and hugged her only tighter. “I miss her.” she whispered and he could feel the familiar feel of tears on her cheeks.

“I miss her every day, my darling.” He replied. “But the Lannister’s will pay for what they have done.”

“Yes.” Said Sansa. They turned to find her standing in the shadow of a large oak, the paleness of her skin flushed slightly pink under the Dornish sun. Her eyes were hard and swollen, tinged softly pink from the tears she had spent. “They will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the rewrite! I just really hated the chapter when I went back and read it again and I think this one works much much better :)


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